


Snapshots From A Divorce

by Lenore



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Drama, F/M, Identity Issues, Infidelity, M/M, Marriage, Partner Betrayal, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-18
Updated: 2007-10-18
Packaged: 2017-10-13 02:48:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://linaerys.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://linaerys.livejournal.com/"><strong>linaerys</strong></a> has this theory about John's divorce. This is the story of that theory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snapshots From A Divorce

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to [](http://linaerys.livejournal.com/profile)[**linaerys**](http://linaerys.livejournal.com/) whose birthday was on Monday. Lin, happy happy belated, and I hope this is at least close to what you had in mind.

The ancient ceiling fan creaked and groaned at Miss Minnie Mae's Fried Chicken Jubilee, as if the burden of trying to keep customers cool in the June swelter was simply too much for it. John sprawled in his chair, uncomfortably aware of his shirt sticking to his back. One of Miss Minnie Mae's nieces kept circling over to fill his iced tea glass, offering an apologetic smile. The air conditioning had been on the fritz since that morning, she'd warned him when he first got there. John checked his watch, yet again, and still no sign of Dee. Not that this was unusual. His fiancée might be the daughter of a military family, but punctuality was not her strong suit.

Finally, almost forty-five minutes late, she breezed through the door, the usual stack of three-ring binders crooked in one arm, "wedding management system," she called it, bags clutched in her hand, including a worryingly large one from Mason's jewelry store.

"Bridesmaids gifts," she said when John took the packages from her, and then laughed at herself. "Look at me getting my priorities all mixed up." She tilted her chin for a kiss. "I know I've kept you waiting something terrible, Johnny, but that awful Mrs. Mason was trying to pretend she hadn't offered me a discount on the engraving for the girls' ID bracelets. It took all my patience to be sweet about it while I set her straight."

"No problem." John kissed her, touching her hair lightly, careful not to mess it up, the way she'd trained him.

She looked cool despite the weather, wearing a white sundress, smelling of powder and flowers. This impossibly pristine quality of hers had grabbed John's attention from the very start, the night they'd met at a bar in San Antonio, John with a weekend off duty, Dee out with her friends for an evening in the big city. It had been late, past two, closer to three, the bleary time of night when the wheels came off people's concern for appearances, when most everyone was smudged and mussed and red-faced. And there sat Dee, carelessly toying with the olive in her martini, not a hair out of place, as if nothing could touch her.

John settled her bags onto an empty chair, and Miss Minnie Mae's niece brought over another glass of tea. "Thanks, Clarice." Dee flashed a smile.

Three men sat at the counter, and only moments before they'd been sagging in their seats, in danger of falling asleep in their chicken fried steak. Now they grew suddenly animated, darting glances back over their shoulders, quickly looking away if they happened to catch John's eye. Dee brushed her long blond hair back over her shoulder and opened up one of the binders, paying her admirers no attention at all.

"I got Wanda Jo straight about the flowers. Not one carnation in the church on our day, she promised." Dee pursed her lips as she turned the page. "Now, are we sure we're fine with the London broil instead of prime rib at the reception? Because foo on the caterer and their unreasonable deadlines. If we want to make a change, we'll make a change."

John shrugged in the blank canvas way he'd perfected for just such moments as these.

Dee nodded. "That's what I thought, too. Prime rib, it is." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "You always have the best taste, sugar."

She kept on flipping pages, and he stopped listening, watching her hands instead. Dee's father sometimes joked, much to Dee's dismay, that she had the hands of a truck driver. Not that they were especially large. It was more their shape, square and blunt and capable. That first night, when John had gone over to talk to her, he'd noticed how strong they looked wrapped around her martini glass, as if her Southern belle exterior hid someone so much more substantial.

"Now, there's just one more thing before Andy gets here." Dee's expression turned serious. "You'll probably think I'm just being silly or superstitious, but I was thinking I'd move back home with mamma and daddy these last two months. I know we haven't exactly waited for our wedding night, but I do want it to be special and—are you mad? Please don't be mad." She bit her lip, as anxious as a child.

John shook his head. "Whatever you want." He'd always had a philosophical attitude about sex. If he was getting some, hey, good for him. If he wasn't, he didn't think about it.

Dee looped her arms around his neck. "Oh, you're just a darling. That's what you are. And you're sure you don't mind asking Andy to be your best man? I mean, if you'd really rather have one of your friends from the Air Force—"

"I'm good with it, Dee."

Honestly, John hadn't known how he was going to choose among his buddies. There wasn't one guy who stood out as his best friend. Asking Dee's brother solved that problem, even if John did barely know him.

"Oh, there he is now!" Dee waved to Andy, who smiled a little wryly as he made his way over to them.

"Hey, Sissy." He hugged her and nodded to John. "How's it going?"

Andy settled onto a chair, and John had the same impression as the other two times they'd met, that no two siblings could be more different. Andy was slight, where Dee was tall, and there was nothing pristine about him in the least, his messy dark hair falling into his eyes, holes in his faded T-shirt. They didn't even sound like they came from the same family, most of the Texas rubbed off Andy's accent.

"You want something to drink, honey? Let me get you something." Dee waved over Clarice and ordered another iced tea. "Johnny and I were just going over the last of the arrangements."

Andy grinned at her. " I thought you all would have eloped by now."

Dee grinned back. "Oh, you are a scandal." She explained to John, "Andy always has been the rebel, bucking tradition, going up north to college instead of to UT like the rest of the men in the family."

"MIT has slightly more to offer someone who wants to be an electrical engineer," Andy said dryly.

"Foo," was Dee's answer, and John could tell they'd had this same conversation in exactly this same way a million times before.

She glanced at her watch and made a surprised face, big and dramatic and not at all convincing. "Oh, mercy me. Look at the time. I've got to meet with Gladys Reynolds about the music in—well, I'd better skedaddle." She gathered her bags and bounced up to her feet. "But ya'll stay and enjoy your lunch and get to know each other better. You _are_ going to be family soon." She smiled sweetly and hurried off.

"Subtle is not my sister's middle name," Andy observed once she'd gone.

John smiled blankly. These moments when Dee foisted her family on him so they could bond, or whatever the point was, always felt like a minefield. Although Andy seemed okay, he guessed. At least John wouldn't have to spend the entire lunch listening to blowhard comments about how the Army was real military and the Air Force was just some pansy ass imitation, the way he did with Dee's father.

Clarice came to take their order, and Andy gave her a hopeful look. "Can you bring me whatever you've got that's a vegetable and not simmered in pork?" She walked away, seeming kind of stumped by the request, and Andy laughed. "Vegetarianism. Yet another way the Colonel considers me a communist."

John had never heard Andy call his father anything other than his rank. It hadn't been easy growing up in that house, he imagined, not for a son. Hell, not for anyone. John knew a little something about that.

Their food came, and they bent over their plates, not much to say for themselves.

Finally, John just came out with it, "Hey, I was thinking you could be my best man. You know, if that's okay with you."

Andy laughed. "I see Sissy's hand at work here." He studied John for a moment. "Sure, I'll do it. If that's what you want. I hear it's tradition for the best man to throw the bachelor party. Although your friends probably have something dreamed up already."

"I've been trying to discourage them, but—" John shrugged. "You should come."

"Dee'll be after me to make sure you don't get into any trouble." Andy grinned. "Or at least not too much."

John shook his head ruefully, imagining what his buddies had planned for him, something involving naked women with big boobs no doubt. "I don't think that's going to be too hard a job."

* * *

The guys wanted to do John's bachelor's party in time-honored fashion the night before the big day, but Dee, predictably, put her foot down. "I am not having a lifetime of memories ruined because my husband looks like he's about to upchuck in all our wedding pictures."

They'd compromised on the weekend before.

There was just the one strip club in town, and military guys were, well, military guys. So it was hardly surprising that Buff Girls, with its neon silhouettes of cavorting women on the facade, was their destination for the evening. They met out front, John's buddies slapping him on the back, Andy hovering uncertainly at the edge of the group.

"Hey, meet my future brother-in-law." John did the introductions.

They eyed Andy as they said "hey," no doubt trying to decide how big a drag it was going to be having a member of the bride's family in tow.

Andy seemed to get that and jerked his head toward the door. "What are we doing out here when the girls are in there?"

The ancient cigarette stink hit John square in the face the moment he stepped through the door, as if the place were held together by sheer nicotine. Three dancers, all equally bored looking, gyrated for the beer-glazed patrons, one on the main stage, one working the pole, one in a cage that was probably supposed to be gilded, but was, in fact, an eyesore of tarnish.

John's buddies insisted on taking seats right up front, and when the waitress came around, John ordered two beers. "Might as well get that minimum out of the way," he told her with a friendly, forced smile.

Before the first round was even finished, Ox had climbed on stage, whooping and shaking his ass as he slipped a twenty in the g-string of a blond dancer who looked as if she could be single-handedly responsible for a worldwide silicone shortage.

Andy leaned in. "Don't they kick guys out of here for doing stuff like that?"

"Not when they spend as much money in the place as Ox does," John said dryly.

The dancers came and went in a blur of forgettably naked flesh. John drank his beer and shrugged good-naturedly every time his buddies yelled out, "Shep, _man_ , no more tittie bars for you after tonight. That _sucks_!"

Andy grinned and nodded toward a sign that read: _Lap dances available_. "I'll treat, if you want. One last hurrah. I'm pretty sure that's the best man thing to do."

John shook his head. "I'm good."

He didn't know if that was some kind of test; he wouldn't put it past Dee to pressure Andy into it. Not that it mattered much. This was one "temptation" he had no trouble resisting, all the dancers so plastic and absurd. He couldn't be less interested if he tried.

"I'm not much on these places, either," Andy confided, not that this came as a particularly startling revelation.

Andy tilted his mug, head thrown back, as he finished off his beer. His hand wrapped around the glass, square and blunt and capable, and the way that hit John, immediate and physical, was a sharp counterpoint to the boredom that had hung over him all evening. _It's just because it reminds me of Dee_ , he insisted to himself, and focused more thoroughly on his beer.

By the time they'd closed down the place, John's buddies were, not surprisingly, all revved up and ready for the evening to move toward its logical conclusion.

"Time to hit Ruby's!" Ray announced to catcalls and other signs of agreement.

John held up his hands, in a gesture of _no way_. "You're going to get me divorced before I even get married."

After at least five minutes of _come on, Shep, it's your bachelor party_ , they finally went off without him.

"You could have gone," Andy said, once it was just the two of them.

John shook his head. "Ruby's is—" How did you say _whorehouse_ to your future brother-in-law?

Andy grinned. "I grew up in this town. I know what Ruby's is. I was just kidding about reporting back to Dee, you know."

John wasn't sure what to say that. Strangely enough what come out was hapless honesty, "I wasn't interested."

Andy gave John a long, appraising look. A slant of light from a nearby streetlamp cut across them, making John feel strangely exposed.

"So. You parked around back?"

Andy nodded, and they started down the alley together.

Most of the town had long since been asleep, and the silence was almost physical. Until Andy broke it, "Doesn't seem right you didn't get a blowjob at your own bachelor party."

John was shaking his head in denial when Andy grabbed him by the arm and pushed him into the shadows, his back connecting with the rough brick of the neighboring building. In John's experience, the next thing to happen in a scenario like this was a fist to the face, and how was that fair when he hadn't even gone to the whorehouse?

He was just about to say as much when Andy moved in, and then Andy's tongue in his mouth made the point entirely moot. Too much beer could dull a man's reflexes, burn him down to pure instinct. This was what John told himself. Reflexes and instinct. They could lead you down a curious path where you somehow ended up kissing your future brother-in-law in a dirty alley next to a stripper bar.

"I knew it. I just knew it." Andy breathed against John's neck. "The first time I saw you."

There was nothing to know, John wanted to say. But then, Andy dropped to his knees, his hand a delicious weight on John's cock, fumbling with his zipper. Words seemed even more pointless than usual. The air, bath water warm, felt almost cool when Andy pulled John's dick free from his underwear, and then Andy quickly blotted out all notion of cold with his hot, hot mouth.

John cupped the back of Andy's head, hands threading through his hair. Andy grappled with John's jeans, fingers digging into his thighs, leaving marks that would probably be there for days. Messy. Careless. And, God, that made the muscles tremble low in John's belly. He gripped Andy's jaw and thrust, eyes squeezed tightly shut, everything tilting darkly away when he came.

The afterwards was a blur, like always, John's mind just skipping over the parts where he tucked his cock back into his jeans, where Andy got to his feet and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Silence hung precariously, and John tensed the way he did in fights, preemptively, as if words might land like fists at any moment.

"So, uh, we'd better-—-" Andy's voice was so quiet John could barely hear him. "It's getting late."

John breathed out, nodding. Pretending nothing happened put him back on solid ground.

Their cars were parked near each other, and another merciless streetlamp threw Andy into high relief as he paused at his driver's side door, his hair even wilder than usual, eyes all pupil, a little smear of come still left on his chin. Jesus. John really wanted to mess him up some more.

Andy's gaze locked onto him. "Your best man shouldn't let you drive drunk."

A moment's hesitation while John cataloged how perfectly sober he felt, and then he tossed Andy the keys.

They said nothing on the way back to John's place. Andy watched the road like it might jump up and run off. John did his best to think nothing at all. At the house, John walked a few steps ahead, plausible deniability maybe, but once inside, where no one could see, he grabbed Andy's wrist and the hem of his shirt, a tangle of arms and urgency. Andy pulled John by the hair into a kiss, while John pressed the heel of his hand against Andy's zipper. He was hard, probably had been since he'd sucked John off in the alley. John pushed him toward the bedroom, catching him by the shoulders when he stumbled, momentum alone keeping them on their feet.

Even with the lights out, John could still see where Dee's things would have been if she hadn't gone back to her parents, face cream on the nightstand, a dress draped across the back of a chair, her shoes kicked off on the rug. The comforter on the bed was the one she'd picked out. _Don't think about it._ This was John's preferred way of dealing with things that should make him feel like the world's biggest dick.

He backed Andy against the dresser, Andy's spine bowing sharply, their bodies close-pressed and sweating, mouths wet and demanding on each other. Andy tangled his hands up between them, and John shoved him even harder, hemming Andy in with his hips, digging his fingers into his arms, in no mood to let go.

Andy smiled against his mouth. "Shirt."

"Oh." John whipped it up over his head and flung it away.

Then he was back on Andy, mouth against Andy's throat, teeth scraping his collarbone. He rocked his hips, their thighs sliding together, the sweet friction of his cock against Andy's, rough cotton between them, making him grunt, making him push that much harder.

Andy's hands slid up John's chest, palms pressed against his shoulders, and suddenly there was force behind it, sending John stumbling backwards.

"What are you doing marrying my sister?"

The harsh sound of panting, from both of them, made John feel suddenly, unbearably closed in, that question bouncing off the walls at him.

Andy scrubbed a hand over his hair, all the fine details of his expression lost in the darkness. The next time he spoke, his voice was strangely disembodied, "Take your pants off."

They fell into bed, naked, twisting and grappling on the sheets, and there was that inevitable moment when John turned over onto his stomach, the way he just seemed to do with guys. Not that he had sex with guys all that often. Not that it meant anything if occasionally he liked a hard cock up the ass.

The shock of penetration made his eyes water, always did, his voice rough in the back of his throat, "Shit, _shit_."

Andy didn't seem to take this as any sign to slow down, a sweaty weight all along John's back, thrusting deep and hard enough to make John slide on the sheets. John grabbed hold, hooked his toes over the edge of the mattress to brace himself, rubbing his cock against the blankets while Andy went at him. Even after John came, Andy went on fucking, sounding hoarse and dazed, "God, _God_."

John usually spent the aftermath of sex staring up at the ceiling, overly aware of two bodies in the bed, but now, he just felt comfortably empty, all the tension fucked out of him.

Andy shifted restlessly beside him. "I should probably—"

"It's late. You'll just wake them up."

Andy made a considering little "hmm," and that was the last John knew until morning.

When he woke, Andy was still there, and John tried not to jostle him as he got out of bed. He made coffee and drank the first cup standing at the sink, staring out the window. Andy came shuffling down the hall not long after, sleep dazed, hair sticking out in all directions. He hesitated in the doorway, gaze meeting John's, as if asking permission.

"Coffee?" John waved his hand at the pot.

Andy nodded and padded on in to the room, yawning.

The phone rang, and Dee's voice, magnolia soft, unfurled in John's ear. "Oh, hey," he said, taking on the unmistakable tone of fiancé.

Andy stilled for a moment and then continued on over to the cabinet for a mug.

"Yeah, we had fun." John crooked the phone against his shoulder, kept his eyes on his feet, but he could still feel Andy watching him. "Yeah, he's here. It was late and—no, I didn't want him driving." He closed his eyes as Dee went on about what a sweetheart he was to look out for her little brother and then signed off with the usual love-you. "Yeah, me too." It was the closest he ever got to saying it.

He hung up, and Andy just stared at him for a moment before setting down his coffee mug. "I'm going to take a shower."

John nodded absently.

Andy stopped in the hall, glancing back over his shoulder. "You coming or not?"

* * *

Christmas in John's family had been simple enough, presents in the morning, dinner in the afternoon, just the three of them at the kitchen table, eating their turkey and mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce fresh from the can, nothing more to say to one another than any other day of the year. John's mother usually cooked the meal still wearing her robe, and sometimes she ate it that way, too. It was years before John realized that their way of celebrating, if you could call it that, was somewhat unusual.

He was beginning to think that old familiar bleakness was preferable to all the fuss Dee was making about their first Christmas as a married couple.

She sat up in bed, restlessly circling her pencil over the list she'd been making and remaking in the notepad she hadn't put down for the last three weeks. "I'm not so sure about the centerpiece. Maybe holly boughs are too obvious."

"Does it really matter?" John made the mistake of asking.

"Johnny, you have no idea what it means that Mamma is letting me host Christmas." She pushed her hair out of her face, a little indignantly. "It's a big deal in my family. Everything has to be perfect. Now, what do you think about dessert? Are two pies enough, or should I whip up a cake just to be on the safe side?"

"Whatever you think."

She nodded. "A cake couldn't hurt." Jotted a note. "I got new sheets for the bed in the spare room. You're sure you don't mind Andy staying with us instead of with my parents?"

"Why would I?" He got up to go brush his teeth.

It really was fine. John kept telling himself. The thing with Andy had been—well, a _thing_. Guys got nervous before a wedding. Stuff happened. John was convinced of this.

When he came back, Dee had finished her scribbling at last, the notebook consigned to the bedside table, pencil at the ready, just in case something came to her in the middle of the night. John slipped beneath the covers and leaned over to kiss her goodnight. She slid her arms around his neck invitingly, something of a surprise. Usually when she was caught up in some whirlwind of planning, sex was the last thing on her mind.

Tonight, though, she seemed anxious for it, putting her hand in his underwear, squeezing and stroking to get him hard. He cupped her breasts in his palms and started to take her gown off, but she shook her head. "Leave it, Johnny. Please. Just—"

She pulled at his shoulders, and he rolled on top of her, lips against her neck as he entered her. A tender quietness came over him, always the same when they were having sex. He wondered, not for the first time, if that was what he was supposed to feel for his wife.

The headboard squeaked in a regular rhythm as he fucked her, and Dee kept her eyes closed, murmuring his name occasionally. John pressed his face to her shoulder and slipped his hand between their bodies, thumb gently working her clit. She slid her hand up his thigh and between his legs, stroking the skin right behind his balls, _that place_ that always made him come. He sucked in his breath, and it was over all too soon.

He flopped onto his back, feeling like maybe an apology was in order.

"Mmm," Dee's voice floated over to him, surprisingly lazy and satisfied. "Maybe if we're lucky we'll have a baby in the house next Christmas, Johnny."

She turned onto her side, and her breathing grew steadily softer. John stared up at the water stain on the ceiling that reminded him oddly enough of an aardvark. He had the uncomfortable feeling they'd just marked something else off of Dee's list.

The mad dash of Christmas preparations continued right up to the last moment, John largely useless when it came to helping. The day of, his contribution consisted largely of answering the door.

Dee's mother arrived with a box of food, and Dee put her hands on her hips. "Mamma, you know _I'm_ cooking the meal."

"It's a big job, sugar. I just thought I'd help out a little. Why don't you and your daddy go bring in the presents? I'll pop these things right into the refrigerator."

Dee stomped off, and John took the box from Phyllis, carrying it into the kitchen. She smiled, a little shyly, as she started unpacking it. They'd never really had much of a conversation, it occurred to John. When Dee's father was in the room, no one else got much of a chance to do any talking.

He cleared his throat. "Everything smells really good."

Phyllis' smile got wider, losing its shyness. "Look-a-here what I brought you." She opened a cake box, proudly showing off a Red Velvet cake.

Phyllis smelled comfortably of vanilla extract and hairspray, the way mothers did, and she'd made his favorite. John's voice went a little rough around the edges when he said, "Thank you."

"I told Dee she should make you one, and she tried to insist you like chocolate better. Truth is, her Red Velvet never does too well." She winked. "Just don't tell her I said so."

The Colonel bellowed out from the living room, "Phyllis, bring me a glass of tea. It's hot as tarnation in here. They must be burning money with these heat bills. What are you doing in that kitchen anyway? Come on out here. Leave that to Sissy."

Phyllis lost her smile instantly, like a kid who'd been scolded, and she scurried off with the tea. John had a sudden picture of his own mother, fading like a ghost before his eyes for years before she actually died.

The doorbell rang, happily, giving him something better to do than remember.

Andy slouched awkwardly on the front stoop, a duffel bag at his feet. "Um, hey, John. I hope it's okay that I crash here. I mean, Sissy said you didn't mind, but—I just wasn't up for more Christmas warfare at the Colonel's."

Andy's mouth was chapped from the Boston winter, and there were dark smudges beneath his eyes, the telltale signs of late nights studying for finals. The last time they'd seen each other, he'd been dressed in a tuxedo, standing next to John while he made promises to Dee.

John shrugged. "Why would I mind?"

He took Andy's bag, showed him in to the living room, and after a round of hugs from Dee and Phyllis and a rather stiff handshake from the Colonel, it was declared time for presents. There was a veritable mountain of them under the tree, and Dee and her mother busied themselves, piling them up in front of their respective recipients. John had never seen so much red foil in his life.

Dee plunked down next to him on the sofa. "We have a little ritual, Johnny. We go around the circle, youngest to oldest, each opening a gift at a time, until they're all done."

Phyllis pointed to a small box in Andy's pile. "Start with that one, honey."

He pulled off the ribbon, tore the paper, and held the open box for everyone to see. "Army socks."

Phyllis nodded. "They'll keep you warm up there in Boston, sugar."

Andy smiled indulgently. "Thanks, Mamma."

The ritual ooh-ing and ah-ing went on like this for a good two hours, by which point John truly hoped to never receive another gift in his life. Andy darted the occasional glance John's way, a wry smirk that roughly translated, _welcome to the loony bin_ , making Andy both a little bit of a shit and the only member of Dee's family with the least bit of perspective.

Getting dinner on the table was no less of a production. Candles were lit, and the lights turned out in the dining room. Dee processed in from the kitchen with the turkey on a platter, setting it in front of her father, who was sharpening the carving knife with rather unnerving dedication. Dishes were passed, sweet potatoes dutifully eaten, and here at last was a holiday tradition that John recognized, the way conversation just seemed to die on the vine. Even Dee, ordinarily a bubbling source of fun, kept her eyes on her plate, barely picking at her food. It was only the Colonel's booming love for hearing his own voice that kept them from all-out silence.

The one saving grace John had found about Dee's father was that when he was ready to go he was ready to go. Not long after the dessert had been eaten, he was asking for his coat.

Phyllis ventured, as tentatively as if she were walking a minefield, "Now, Merle, don't you think we should help clean up a little before just rushing off?"

"Sissy wanted to have Christmas at her house, didn't she?" he answered impatiently. "There's responsibility that goes along with that."

John got to his feet, smiling politely. "Don't worry about it, Phyllis. I'll take care of the dishes."

"Me too, Mamma," Andy chimed in. "Sissy's already done enough work for one day." He directed a hard glare at his father.

Phyllis gave Andy and John pecks on the cheek. "You're good boys." She hugged Dee tight. "Thank you for a lovely Christmas, baby."

The Colonel, predictably, didn't offer a thank you or even a little shred of a compliment, and John was pretty sure that if he made it through this marriage without ever taking a swing at his father-in-law he was going to deserve a commendation for restraint.

Once they'd gone, Dee started clearing the table, but she kept rubbing at her neck the way she did when she was getting a headache.

"I've got this," John told her. "Why don't you go on to bed?"

"You're sweet." Dee kissed him. "I think everything went well for our first Christmas, don't you?"

John smiled on cue, even though he felt nothing but exhausted. "Couldn't have been better."

Dee hugged her brother goodnight and went off down the hall, and once it was just John and Andy, the house felt awkwardly still. They steered a careful course around each other as they tackled the wrapping paper apocalypse in the living room, shuttled dishes to the kitchen. John kept reminding himself: Just a thing that happened, no reason for it to ever happen again.

"Thanks for putting up with my strange and somewhat dysfunctional family," Andy said while they worked.

John shrugged. "All families are weird in some way."

"Dee says you never talk about yours." He met John's eye curiously.

John started the water in the sink. "I'll wash if you dry."

They finished up without much more to say, and Andy followed John down the hall, stopping at the door to the guest bedroom. "Well—Merry Christmas." His mouth turned up with ironic humor.

"Yeah." John smiled crookedly. "You, too."

 _See_ , he thought as he continued on to his bedroom. _Just a one-time thing_.

In the morning, John woke to the smell of coffee, Dee still sound asleep next to him. He padded out to the kitchen, found Andy there, hair flattened to his head, a crumpled T-shirt and sweatpants that hung off him. He was opening and closing cabinets.

John leaned in the doorway. "You ransacking the place?"

Andy nodded. "I'm trying to make off with your cereal. Only you've gone and hidden it on me."

"Where you'd never think to look for it." He led Andy over to the walk-in pantry, stood on his tiptoes, reaching for the shelf, his T-shirt riding up. "Cheerios okay?"

He grabbed the box and turned, and Andy was staring, his expression bleak with lust, and then he lunged. The Cheerios dropped to the floor, and John knocked back against some canned goods. Andy tangled up his fist in John's T-shirt, and the kissing was just a shade shy of violence, no room to breathe, a rushing noise in John's ears like being underwater.

He was hard before he could even get his sweatpants pushed down, Andy fumbling at his own drawstring just as urgently. John took both their cocks in his hand, sliding them together. Andy thrummed his hips forward, all messy elbows, a box of macaroni sent flying. John hooked Andy by the neck, fingers sliding up, into messy curls, as they kissed like all the hours, minutes since Andy had arrived were all leading up to this.

"I'm going to come," Andy warned breathlessly, scrambling to get their shirts out of the way.

John pushed against him, hard, one last time, and they both spilled over his fist.

"Johnny? Andy?" Dee's sleepy voice drifted in from the hall.

John made a mad grab for a bag of napkins on the shelf, swiped at their bellies, and they yanked their pants back up.

Andy scooped up the box of Cheerios, went out to meet Dee. "John was showing me where you hide the cereal."

John took a deep breath, eyes closed, and then plastered on the blank look that had become a way of life before going to join them.

He and Andy steered clear of each other the rest of the week, as much as they could living in the same house, with Dee so intent that they should "love each other just like brothers." Finally, Andy packed up his duffel bag, not a moment too soon. John walked him out to the car, Dee impatiently honking.

Andy said just loud enough for John to hear, "The first time, I told myself it didn't matter, because you weren't married yet, but now—I don't want to be a shit to my sister. Next year, if I can't take the Colonel, I'll stay at a motel."

They stepped out of the house, and for Dee's benefit, they both pretended at smiles. "Take it easy, John," Andy said with a casual salute.

He hopped into the car, Dee grinning and waving as she pulled out of the driveway. John just stood there, barefoot on the front porch, shoving down an unexpectedly bereft feeling so hard he felt like he was going to gag on it.

* * *

Out on Route 12 sprawled the Starlight, the town's sole motel, cracked pavement and a prehistoric paint job and a not-so-well concealed willingness to accept stays by the hour as freely as more respectable business. John parked by the last room, the one farthest from the office, neon from the vacancy sign spilling luridly across the car's front seat, or maybe it was just his imagination that made it seem that way. He grabbed the bottle of tequila he'd brought along and went to knock at the door.

Andy opened up and stepped back, and when they were safely locked inside, he touched John's face, fingers warm on his cheek, as he kissed him. "You look tired."

John nodded. He hoped being with Andy might chase away a little of the weariness that had settled over him lately. It felt so different than the first time he'd come here, driven by pure desperation.

That second Christmas he and Dee were together, he'd nearly gone out of his mind, with the incessant lists and feeling like a stranger in his own house and the unhappy anticipation of spending an entire day with the Colonel. He brought Andy beer that year, an excuse, and Andy still hadn't wanted to let him in. "I'm not that kind of shit," he'd said at least four times.

"Just tell me you don't want it," was John's trump card.

A pause, and then the jingle of the chain on the door being unfastened, and Andy had hauled John by the shirt into the room.

They'd taken off their clothes and gone to bed, and after Andy had fucked John for the second time, he'd conceded, "Okay, so I am a shit."

It had become a yearly tradition, both the sex and the guilt.

John poured plastic cups of tequila, and they sat side by side on the end of the bed, watching each other in the mirror, John rubbing Andy's thigh while they drank.

"So," Andy bumped John's shoulder with his own, "you want to tell me what those dark circles under your eyes are about?"

The sound track of the last hour with Dee unspooled in John's head.

 _When are we going to talk about moving to a bigger house? I'm sick of you putting me off like nothing I want is important. We've already been over this. We can't afford it until my next promotion. Can we please just get through Christmas first? Get through? Like you don't even want to be here. Don't put words in my mouth. You think I don't feel it, Johnny? How distant you are. If it's so awful being married to me, why don't you just go? Fine, you know what? Somebody really ought to welcome your brother home. We can talk about this later._

He'd grabbed the tequila out of the cabinet, and she'd stood by the door, watching him go, her lip trembling.

Andy shook his head. "Never mind. I can't actually listen to you complain about my sister."

John brushed the hair back from Andy's forehead and kissed him. "So, how's grad school going?"

Andy tugged John's shirt out of his waistband. "My thesis advisor hasn't become any less of a moron since my last complaining email."

"No?" John smiled softly, hand curled against Andy's back, rubbing his thumb in circles.

Andy shook his head. "How's pilot stuff?"

John edged back onto the bed, stretching out. "Fast. Dangerous."

Andy grinned, sliding up to join him. "In other words, you love it as much as ever."

They took off the rest of their clothes, and John pulled Andy down on top of him, kissed him as if he had all the time in the world, a reassuring delusion. Andy straightened his elbows, holding himself above John, looking him square in the eye.

"This is the last year. I mean it. The last time I come back here. This town—" He shook his head. "And doing this, with you—"

John rubbed his hands up and down Andy's arms until the tension eased at last, and they were skin to skin again, kissing.

"I know you don't believe me," Andy said against John's mouth.

John rolled him over, found the pulse in Andy's neck with his lips and then his tongue.

Andy stroked his hands through John's hair. "I can't just push this off to the side and not think about it. That's your way. Not mine."

John rubbed his cheek, stubble rough, over Andy's chest, making Andy's breath hitch, a sharp, satisfying sound in the quiet room.

"End it with Dee, if that's what you want." Andy's hands moved restlessly over John's back, stroking, pressing, molding to the shape of the muscles. "I just can't be the cause of it."

Andy's ribs rose and fell sharply as John kissed past them. He moaned as John puffed warm breath against his belly, and then clutched at John's shoulders, fingers digging in, as John began to kiss lower.

"God, I've missed you." The admission sounded like it cost him something.

John put his mouth on Andy, and then his cock inside him, and every touch, every everything had a heaviness hanging over it, even when they said each other's name, even when they came, as if this was goodbye, only it felt this same way every time, had from the very start.

Afterwards, they pulled their pants back on, but didn't actually make it out of bed.

John lay on his side, idly touching Andy's arm. "I should probably go. Dee'll be waiting."

Andy nodded. "I really mean it this time."

John kissed him, not because he didn't believe it, just because it hadn't happened yet.

He never heard a car pull up, or the whoosh of a key card in the lock, or the opening of the door. Just suddenly Dee was standing there, her eyes flying open wide, hand pressed to her mouth.

John bolted to his feet. "Dee, it's not—" But lying seemed too feeble under the circumstances, all the air going out of his denial.

Dee laughed bitterly. "I talked the manager into giving me the key. I thought it'd be a nice surprise."

"Sissy," Andy said quietly.

But Dee wasn't paying any attention to him. She had her eyes riveted on John. "Things have been so bad. I wondered if you were cheating on me, but every time I brought it up with Mamma, she just laughed. Said I was crazy, because you never even look at other women."

She shook her head, and it was quite possibly the saddest thing John had ever seen.

When she turned to go, he started after her. "Dee—"

Andy stopped him. "Don't. Let me talk to her."

He picked his shirt off the floor and pulled it on, went to his suitcase for socks, sat down on the bed to tie up his shoes. John watched mutely, the only time in his life he could remember having absolutely no idea what to do.

"I'm sorry," it finally occurred to him to say to Andy.

He shook his head. "Dee'll forgive me. Eventually. I'm blood. That's just how my family does things. But—"

"Yeah," John said tightly. He didn't need Andy to finish the rest of that sentence to know that Dee would never forgive him.

Andy looked up at John, his face filled with earnest concern. "She won't tell anyone. The Colonel least of all."

"Is that all you think I care about? My career?" John snapped, although to be fair, his anger was mostly at himself.

Andy shook his head. He said softly, "I just keep thinking everything would have been different if I'd met you first."

John's gaze dropped down to the carpet. He would have liked to think that too, but he knew himself too well.

Andy got to his feet. "Goodbye, John. I hope you find what you're looking for someday."

The last kiss was just the quickest brush of lips, and then Andy was grabbing his coat from the back of a chair, crossing the room.

He stopped, long enough to say, "Just don't marry any more women, okay?"

The door slammed shut behind him, and John sat down on the bed, head in his hands. He didn't know much right now, not where to go from here, or even who he was particularly. But he did, for whatever feeble consolation it was worth, recognize good advice when he heard it.


End file.
